


An Eye for an Eye

by DaxaFlame



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Descriptions of gore, and cannibalism what a surprise, just Hannibal being Hannibal I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaxaFlame/pseuds/DaxaFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another serial killer, intent on "purifying" his victims. Will goes to dinner, ends up talking about the case, and something he says catches Hannibals attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eye for an Eye

The body was impaled on five knives, one in each thigh, one at each shoulder, one through the forehead. Eyes gouged out, dark, empty holes remaining. Blood from the numerous cuts which had been placed up and down the torso created a pool of, now dried, blood, staining the ground dark red, tainting the air with its rusty scent. Pale skin standing out against it, dark hair framing the face of what once was a young woman, now a work of art, created with effort, proudly on display.  
Messy curls falling onto his face, shoulders hunched and jaw set, special agent Will Graham looked down at the latest victim of the killer that had been targeting girls under the age of about twenty five, taking their eyes out, leaving thin, even slices in lines on their torsos, allowing them to slowly bleed out, unable to move due to the knives holding them down. This was the fourth one found in the past month, just off the side of the road, on a hunting trail in the forest. Each girl was being placed where there was a guarantee of them being seen, found, but that was also away from large public gatherings, town squares, public parks. As close to the wilderness as one could get while still being apart of the urban areas, still receiving a steady flow of people.  
The scene began to clear, the others around stepping back, leaving space for the empath to do what he did, dive into anothers head to help catch them. Observing Will, standing just off by the trees stood Jack Crawford, keeping an eye out, watching for another mental break, crime scene contamination, violent behaviour like what had happened before, when the killers mind fought back, wrapped around Will's own and controlled it for a few seconds, long enough to snap the arm of one of the junior forensics, long enough for hands to wrap around the young neck and squeeze, constrict, block. Will had come back in time to let go, to fall away, retch, shudder and shake as the man lay gasping. Too close (but not near enough, a part buried deep whispered, the stag cried, the shadows sang).

_I lay her out on the ground, her screams muffled by the gag shoved deep in her red mouth. She tries to toss me off, buck up, escape, but I am too strong, holding her back easily, letting her see the smile on my face. It will be the last thing she sees._  
 _I reach in the bag on my back for the first knife, pushing it into, through her left shoulder, watching her face scrunch in agony, pain, fear. The second knife mirrors the first, but on the other side, leaving her pinned, struggling. I press my thumbs into her eyes, pressing down, scraping, tearing them free from the optic nerve with my nails, setting them aside as my trophies, my reward. Blind, she still struggles, still fights, as I stab the third knife through her left thigh, followed quickly by the fourth knife through the right. She is now laid out, skin like snow against the deep red of her lifeblood draining away._  
 _The last knife goes through her forehead, through her brain, ending her life, before I use a small scalpel to begin placing my mark, little cuts, deep enough to draw the last of her dwindling blood, up and down her creamy torso. She is a masterpiece, my masterpiece, beautiful and pure.  
This is my design._

Gasping, pulling himself back, he opened his eyes and found himself kneeling on the ground in front of the body, hands grasping handfuls of earth. He heard Jacks footsteps growing closer, and pushed himself to his feet, turning around, avoiding eye contact, instead choosing to look at his forehead (lined, older than the rest of him, the weight of his thoughts bringing him down).  
"He's transforming them, stripping away the cosmetics, bringing them back to basics. Purifying them. Making them art..." Will trailed off, looking back at the body spread out beside them, mouth twitching in a slight, grim smile as he continued speaking. "He doesn't like things that are...artificial. The eyes are gone because each of these girls were wearing contact lenses, or needed glasses, or had vision correction surgery. The cuts are his way of claiming them as his own, marking them, separating them".  
"It's definitely the same guy who killed the other four then?" asked Jack with a weary sigh, eyes fixed on Will, whos shoulders tensed before relaxing into a shrug, looking up at the lower part of Jacks nose, nodding silently.  
"Great. That's just what we need. Another serial killer on top of the one we already have" Jack said, turning around to walk back towards the cars, Will following slowly behind him, as the forensic crew made their way back to the body to work their magic and try and pick up any evidence left behind. Not that they would find anything, something Will knew for a fact, but didn't bother mentioning. This killer was careful, taking the time to fully clean up, wipe away all traces of himself. He wanted to remain hidden for now, be able to walk amongst the rest of the world for the time being, choosing his next target, getting inspiration. 

Dr. Hannibal Lecter gently placed the scalpel down on the chair beside him, leaning back to get a clearer look at the now silent body in front of him, muscles still tight from the effort of fleeing, tears drying on the cooling face. A man, average height, average looking, average in all ways but how he treated customers. A former cashier, who would now become a delightful main course, lungs fried and seasoned, liver made into pâté for later consuming with fine bread and rich wine. His thigh meat would be turned into sausages, plain, uncooked, morsels meant for Will Grahams dogs, another way of breaking down his barriers, defences. The rest of the body would be left arranged on the table, ribs cracked open to expose his once beating heart. Simple yet elegant, as the purpose was more to get the meat than to leave an impression.  
Cleaning up took less than an hour, blood gently washed from the floors of the mans own house, his pictureframes straightened and polished, any prints, evidence, easily cleared away, until the only evidence of his being here was the corpse on the table. Picking up the freezer boxes containing todays spoils, he made his way out, leaving no footprints, diverting into the woods to walk the few miles back to his own house, carefully changing direction, doubling back every once in a while. There was no such thing as being too careful, not when you obtained what may be considered the main part of many of your meals straight from fresh sources, after all.  
Straight to the kitchen, to place the thigh meat into the freezer amongst pieces of others who would soon be delicious meals, stacked according to date and type (the newer kills were always placed on the bottom, unless, of course, a point was to be made by eating them in certain company, unknown to the guests). Deciding on a simpler meal, one to put the guest he knew would show up, uninvited but more than welcome, Hannibal began to slice the heart of a sloppy pharmacist into strips, planning to fry them with rosemary, served with a simple salad of lettuce, tomatoes, onions and croutons, with homemade dressing. Sleeves rolled up, apron tied around the waist, knife in hand.  


Less than twenty minutes after he had arrived home, a car pulled up, the shoes of the driver echoing as he walked up to the front door, simply pushing it open, stepping inside, inhaling the smell of the cooking meat. "In the kitchen" called Hannibal, unnecessarily, for both men knew the other was aware of their presence here. Coat off, hung up neatly, fingers tapping the side of each leg in agitation as he walked, Will Graham stepped inside, already apologising for showing up unannounced, swiftly cut off by the request for him to help wash the lettuce and begin to prepare the salad. Something which he did without bothering to utter another word, feeling calm for the first time that day, as he noticed that there was easily enough meat frying in the pan for two, that there were two plates sitting out for the salad to be placed on.  
Hannibal served up the strips of meat, laying them across the salad in even rows, using a spoon to dribble sauce over the top in waves, before picking them up and asking Will to carry the wine that had already been set out to breathe and the glasses. They took dinner in the dining room, places set up as if for a formal dinner as per usual, Hannibal in his seat at the head of the table, Will to his right. A slight smile, hand gesturing for him to have the first taste, Will cut himself past of a strip and lifted it to his lips, chewing slowly, eyes half closing in pleasure at the taste. He did not notice the slight smile turn into a smirk, eyes glinting with something dark as the Ripper watched his 'friend' enjoy the flesh of another, unknowingly. Conversation was sparse, both men more focused on the taste, the textures, on finishing every little morsel.  
"He wants to purify them". Voice tired and harsh, Will nodded his thanks to Hannibal as he placed both the knife and the fork on top of his now clear plate, eyes darting up and away again, staying focused on the mans cheekbones as opposed to his maroon eyes. "He feels that they are tainted, that they need to have all the extras stripped away, need to be made into what they should have always have been. Natural, beautiful, he counts them as works of art, as his works of art, masterpieces, laid out for the world to see". The profiler stood, pushing his chair in with the right hand as he ran the left through that unruly hair, feet beginning to take him back and forth in front of the table, pacing.  
"And what do you see them as?" Hannibal asked, eyes tracking the others movements, the question stopping him in his tracks as he turned back to look at the man who had just spoken. "A waste" came the reply, quiet, murmured, eyes once more avoiding contact with Hannibals, twitchy, nervous, even as he continued speaking. "He takes out their eyes and does nothing with them, he leaves their bodies lying there full and ripe and...wasted". Eyes snapping back into focus, Will shook himself, apologetic smile sliding onto his face as he glanced over towards the other, stepping back to the table in order to pick up the plates and carry them back out to the kitchen. Dr. Lecter sat alone for a few seconds, watching him walk away, the mask he wore dropping for a second, lips curling into a smirk. A waste indeed, fresh meat lying out, left to rot while people starved in their homes. Quite rude, one might say.

The body of an older man, a former art professor, long time deer hunter was found a week later, organs missing, a message carved into the pale, cold flesh of his torso.  
 _Waste not, want not._


End file.
